Suspect Motive
by Iona Nineve
Summary: *REWRITE* What if Katrina's baby was a girl? What happened? Where are they? Who put them there? And why? A re-write of the later parts of season one under those circumstances. Begins before knowledge of Katrina's baby.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own it.**

**Author's Note: Due to recent responses I have decided to rewrite this fic. **

**Hopefully the characters are more accurately portrayed now, it's been a while since I've watched the show so... Also, I'm sorry if they're still bad. I'm no****t trying write Abbie horribly, I promise, I'm just apparently very bad at it**

**Changes to Chapter 1: I apologize for a phrase which has been removed, no insult nor conotation was meant, it was merely a case of unfortunate phrasing.**

**PS: The parts in italics are visions.**

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><p><span>Suspect Motive<span>

Chapter 1

Ichabod Crane strode through an overgrown, abandoned house. He had recently found the old home, his and Katrina's home, and he been surprised to find it still standing. Every day since, he has delved deeper into the ramshackle home, and the memories it contained.

His head swam with the recent revelations concerning the happenings surrounding his own death. The Horseman, their current enemy, was in actuality his old friend, Abraham. And Katrina, his purgatory bound wife, was to be the Horseman's prize.

Behind him stood a door, the very door which he had carried Katrina through after they had been wed. The room in which he stood had served as kitchen, informal dining room, and parlor. To the right a pair of doors led to the formal dining room, we'll light by a large west facing window; the brass chandelier still hung from a sagging ceiling, over a dusty water-stained oaken table. With every step a great plume of dust surrounded his boots like the smoke from a musket shot, the particles danced in the streams of light from the windows. To the left a central of the central room was a short hall way. On one side one of the two doors led to a small pantry; the other into his study, the sturdy desk surrounded by mostly empty bookcases. The shelves held a small number of artifacts which may prove helpful as well as a relatively small amount of ragged looking books, he had planned to send for others of his things after the revolution. Across the hall a single door opened into the master bedroom, though the ropes and mattress had rotted, the wooden frame had suffered little damage. Too few the happy nights he hand Katrina spent, wrapped in each other's arms, laying in that bad. He had walked through the home in reflective silence, the only noise was the dull thud of his boots on the floor boards. He was painfully aware of the empty bedrooms above him, which had been intended for the children they had planned to have. As the sun was setting, Crane sat on a straight back chair in the central room, a working oil lamp on the table beside him. He watched the ghosts of years past play in the shifting shadows of last light.

Sitting in this state of revory he became hungry, and wondered whether any canned preserves had lasted the centuries. The latch of the pantry had rusted locked, it took some fiddling and time to lessen it enough to be opened. The majority of the shelves still housed filled glass jars. Spotting a jar of strawberry preserve on an upper shelf directly before him, he stepped forward. The dull thud that had accompanied every one of his steps was conspicuously absent from this step, the floorboards beneath his foot sagged from the weight.

He retreated a step and knelt on the dusty floor. He knocked on the spot his foot had been, marked by an absence of dust in the shape of a boot print, a hollow boom followed. Finding the edge of a board, he began pulling up floorboards until there was an opening large enough for him to go through. He could not imagine why this would be there, it seemed to be an underground tunnel. Perhaps escape routes had been more common in homes of the time than he had thought. A candle sat on a low shelf near him. He light its ancient wick with a match, which he still found quite amazing, from the complementary box at the hotel. Once alight he lowered it into the hole, the flame did not quaver.

Lowering himself, candle and all, his feet connected lightly with the floor after less than a foot drop. The light illuminated a long corridor of clean huen earthen walls. As he walked forward he found an opening in the wall, blocked by a thick wooden door, which contained pieces from several different varieties of tree. He tested the door and found it to be locked. Walking on a little ways he found more doors all locked or stuck fast. Suddenly the sensation of another presence came over Ichabod and he turned. Near the now far end of the corridor, just on the boundary of the candlelight's reach, the figure of a woman in a long white gown began to walk slowly toward him. "Katrina!" He called to the ghostly and familiar figure, as he ran towards her. He met her at the first door, without looking at him or acknowledging his presence the figure turned and walked through the locked door.

He pushed on the door which swung open easily to reveal a small earthen room furnished with various entirely intact items. A rocking chair sat in one corner close by a bookcase. One book in particular caught his attention, Katrina's favorite book, inside a letter, the letter that would have been received by her upon the occasion of his death. On the other side of the room were a few tables, all covered in different containers of supplies ranging from food to mysterious necessities of witchcraft; a large wooden chest; a bed and beside it a much smaller bed, on the latter of which a doll sat. On the bedside table there were two pictures; one was their wedding portrait, the other of a girl of about three clutching the doll that now lay on the tiny bed.

Sitting down upon the larger bed in a state of confused shock, his mind unable to process into a coherent thought all the information contained in this room. Eventually a single word made its way through his head and out his mouth. "Baby." Could it be possible that at the time of his death Katrina had been with-child?

"Ichabod." He turned his head to find Katrina standing near the bookshelves. He jumped up from the bed, the portrait of the girl still in his hands. "I can't stay long. But you must understand."

"We have a daughter?"

"Yes, her name is Abigail."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know when I buried you that I was with-child. And in saving you I had angered my coven. For awhile I was able to hide in Europe. In the final days I found sanctuary at Lachlan's home, where Abigail was born. Within minutes of her birth the coven came to the door demanding that Lachlan bring me out. He told them that we were in sanctuary and were safe as long as we were on the property. I stayed there for about a year. Abigail would play with Grace, housekeeper's, children. Lachlan aided me in casting protective charms over this house, especially these underground rooms. But something went wrong."

"What? Katrina, what happened?"

"I'm sorry, Ichabod, I'm out of time." She began to fade from the room.

"Katrina, no, wait!" He yelled stretching out his hand to hold her there, but she had already disappeared.

Later, long after the sun had fully set, Ichabod was sitting at the ancient kitchen table wondering what could possibly have happened to his wife and daughter. His thoughts were interrupted by a beam of searching light. "Crane, that you?"

"Leftenant?" The approaching Lieutenant Mills came into the lamp's light.

"We should get out of here, this place looks like it about to fall down."

"It has stood since 1778, I have no reason to believe it will not continue to do so."

"How do you..?"

"That was the year in which I built it."

"You mean this was your house?"

"Indeed."

"Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I talked with Katrina. I... I... I have a daughter."

"What? You?" Ichabod's face remained in its worried expression. "What's wrong?"

"Something happened to them. Are there any old houses still standing in Sleepy Hollow?"

"The oldest would be the Old Fredericks House, I suppose."

"Yes, that's where we'll go." He jumped up from his seat and headed to the door with a quick determination.

"Why are we-" Abbie hurried to keep up.

"Lachlan Fredericks. He was the owner of the house during the revolution, a friend of mine and Katrina's. And, according to what Katrina told me, a warlock."

"Crane. You may be willing to walk across town, but I'm not. Get in the car." He conceded and climbed into the car parked on the street. "So why are we going?"

"Lachlan's home was a sanctuary for any who wished protection. All the workers who lived there were free men and women and stayed there of their own will. Katrina's coven was after her, she knew that she could find aid and shelter there. That's where she went and that's where our daughter was born."

"Okay."

"Turn here."

"No, I stay straight."

"No, you turn here. One does not enter a governor's drive through the exit. Turn."

Abbie refused to back down, "You want to get there fast, right? This is the fastest way, I know because we used to come as kids." She drove past the turn off and continued on her intended route.

They soon pulled up in front of an overgrown manor, standing in a condition only a little better than Ichabod's own home. "How could this house have fallen into such a state of decrepitude? It was once one of the grandest households in the area."

"Well, I think the family died out in 1813 when the last Fredrick male died in the War of 1812 and his sister married into some wealthy family in New Jersey. So it's been abandoned since then."

"Let us continue then."

"What exactly are we looking for here?"

"I'm not certain. But whatever it be it's here."

Abbie tested the doorknob. "Locked. Don't suppose this friend of your's gave you a key."

"Even if he had I doubt the lock would not have been changed."

"Would it be some great offense to etiquette if I were to just knock down the door?"

"If there were people living here... but as it is, go ahead." He relented, resisting the urge to explain the rules of proper entrance. She proceeded to knock the door inward, and together they entered the house.

"So if we see anything out of the ordinary..."

"Yes, that's what we're looking for. Anything out of the ordinary." They split up as they continued into the house, following that very unspecific guideline.

"You know, Crane, when I was a kid we thought this place was haunted."

As they separated further into the the house the heavy atmosphere of the passed years weighed on them both.

Ichabod walked through the rooms that had been the public rooms, the style of the furnishings in which were as foreign to him as the modern world outside. "Times have changed, Ichabod." He looked up from his reverie to see the figure of Lachlan Frederick standing in front of a window. "Even my house is no longer as it appeared during the revolution."

"Lachlan, what became Katrina?"

"Ah... Yes."

As Abbie moved towards a hallway lined in bedrooms she heard footsteps nearby. "Crane? That you?" She called. When no reply came she took out her gun and held it in a preparatory fashion. "It's not haunted. Not haunted." Another footstep. "Crane?" She called somewhat frightened.

"Shhhh." The sound came from a black woman clothed in colonial garb, standing in front of a door a finger to her lips accompanying the sound. As Abbie gazed at the strange sight of the woman, she silently beckoned her closer with a waving motion of her hand. Obeying Abbie approached the door before which the woman stood. The woman turned and walked through the door which opened as she passed through it. When Abbie crossed the threshold of the room sound filled the room as though the sound barrier had snapped. _Upon the bed Ichabod's wife, Katrina, lay screaming from the pain of childbirth. The woman who had led Abbie into the room was acting as midwife, her orders to the other younger women in the room and her speech to Katrina muffled by the latter's cries. In the same moment that Katrina's screams ceased a high pitched and wailing cry began. The woman held, partially wrapped in a blanket, a newborn baby. "It's a girl, Mrs. Crane, a little baby girl." She said, fully wrapping the baby girl and presenting her to Katrina._

_"Thank you, Grace." Katrina said taking her daughter into her arms. "Hello, little one!" Her face was alight with a glow of joy and a smile crossed her sweaty face as she gazed at the little bundle. "If only Ichabod could be here." The baby cooed, looking with wide eyes at her mother._

_"What's her name gonna be?"_

_"Abigail. For she would have been a joy to her father." A loud knocking from the door echoed through the house. All the people in the room froze and fell silent, even the baby was silent. Voices from outside could be heard, but understood, through the window. Katrina clutched the baby protectively to her chest while the woman, Grace, hurriedly shut the draperies of the window._ The people vanished, all that remained in the room was a wardrobe and the deteriorated bedstead.

Ichabod stood facing Lachlan expectantly. "You have a daughter. I don't know if you knew that." Ichabod nodded. "Katrina came here to deliver the child. Within minutes of the girl's birth the coven appeared at my door." Lachlan's voice faded off as Ichabod's vision shifted to the window behind the man. _Visible through the panes was the doorstoop. A small crowd of women gathered there, Lachlan appeared before them. Sound returned to the vision. "What do you want?"_

_"We want Katrina Crane, bring her out to us." The apparent leader of the coven ordered._

_"This property is a sanctuary. All who come here seeking safety are granted it. She is under my protection as long as she dwells here."_

_"And what is to stop us entering now and taking her. She is weak from childbirth and will not resist us."_

_"I will. My protection controls this place, you shall not pass through that door. Nor shall you return here. Now go."_

_"Go we shall. But you can not protect the woman forever. And when she leaves we shall find her." _With that threat the vision dissolved and only Lachlan stood before Ichabod.

"You see, Ichabod, I tried to keep Katrina safe. She remained here with the girl, Abigail she called her, for three years. After which I aided her casting similar protective charms around your home. Occasionally Grace and I would check on her, to see how she was doing. One day the coven returned here and afterward I was unable to leave the property. I was unable to help Katrina when she came. My deepest apologies and sympathies. Perhaps this will be of aid to you." He flicked his hand, from a nearby room the thud of a fallen object came. Then he disappeared. Ichabod then approached the door from which the sound had originated. On the floor, beneath a shelf was a book, within which was what appeared to be records of all those who had come to the estate seeking sanctuary.

The two remaining presences within the house eventually found each other and exited the long abandoned house. Neither talked until they were in the car, Ichabod holding the book of records.

"What's that?" Abbie asked referring to the book.

**PPS: For those of my readers who are wondering why I chose to have two characters named Abigail; my advice is to lookup the meaning of the name Abigail then reread the vision about little Abigail's birth (Specifically what Katrina says after naming her).**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything.**

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><p><span>Chapter 2<span>

Lieutenant Mills sat at a table in the vault, studying the book from the Frederick's house. "Crane, look at this."

"Yes, Leftenant?" He said moving over to Abbie.

"It looks like someone kept up this book after the house was abandoned. The last entry is from 1867."

"That is indeed odd." He said approaching the desk at which she sat. Looking over her shoulder, he inspected the page.

"It would seem that the house took in wounded soldiers and some going home."

In the back of the book a corner of paper, heavier and more yellowed than those of the book, had dislodged from among the other pages. Ichabod pulled it out. "As is this."

"What is it?"

"A family tree, beginning with Grace."

"The Fredericks' housekeeper?"

"Yes. Look how far it continues" He commented handing it to Abbie.

"That's well past the last inhabitants of the house. And look at the handwriting, the later names are written the same way as the first few."

Ichabod had been looking at the back of the paper intently then went over to the table where the book lay.

"Crane what are you doing?"

"There's ink marks on the back of that paper which means there was another behind it." After flipping through the pages he pulled out another loose page. He skimmed it quickly then stopped dead at the bottom of the page. "Leftenant, is your firstname Grace?"

"Yeah. How do you..?" She turned inquisitively to face him. He was holding the new page out to her that the continued family tree was visible. She got up and took the paper from him. Beside her name, Grace Abigail Mills, was that of Jennifer Mills. She was a part of this family tree; she was therefore descended from Grace, the housekeeper of Fredrick's Manor who had delivered Ichabod's daughter. "Crane."

"I found something equally odd in the ledger." He was gazing intently at the last used pages of the ledger, and continued without providing a response. "All these later entries are in Lachlan's hand. See, its exactly the same as in the beginning.."

"Crane."

"Yes, Leftenant?"

"Does this really mean what I think it means?" Ichabod nodded silently. "I think we should go back to Frederick Manor."

"I can not, I need answers from Katrina. I need to know what happened." His face was begging desperately. She however also needed answers and those could not be found in the old Crane resident.

"Well, I'm going back. I'll see you tomorrow then." She got up, taking the book and the papers with her, and immediately returned to Frederick Manor in her car. Upon entering she sat down in an ancient armchair the book in her lap. There she waited for Grace.

"You wish to speak to me? I was expecting you."

"Am I actually..?"

"One of my descendants, yes, by my eldest daughter. Infact the latest in the line of eldest daughters which entitles you to something else." She waved her hand and the thud of a book falling from the nearby shelves echoed while the book skidded across the floor to Abblie's feet. "You see Mister Lachlan was not the only one in this house who had powers. That book was passed to me by my mother, it contains a form of magic from her home country."

"And this is mine now?"

"Yes it is."

"Why are you still here?" Abbie inquired.

"A few years after Katrina's baby was born, the Sisterhood of the Radiant Heart came here in search of them. Lachlan tried to dissuade their efforts. His attempts only served to anger them. They cast a curse upon this house that kept him and his powers from ever leaving the sanctuary of his own home, I was caught in this as well. And so it is that we remain in this place and care for any who come for safety."

"You and he continue the ledger."

"Take the book, darling, you may have use for it sooner than you think. Now, go." Abbie got to her feet and made her way out onto the gravel driveway. Looking back to the house she saw two figures in the front window. Then she hurriedly went to where she suspected Crane to be. She thought she now had some knowledge to give him that would prove useful.

Meanwhile Ichabod took off on foot the remains of his old home. Making his way down the passage to the room where he had seen Katrina, he sat on the bed and waited. It was not until the ghostly figure of Katrina appeared seated beside him. "Hello, Ichabod. You wished to speak to me no doubt."

"What happened, Katrina? What happened to you and our daughter?"

"Lachlan and Grace would come to check on us regularly. There came a time when they hadn't come for so long, I thought to go see them. It was the first time we had left the safety of this place. I brought Abigail with me, reluctant to leave her alone, we wore protective amulets to aid in disguising our presence. The coven was laying in wait for us just outside of Lachlan's home. I wasn't able to fend all of them off."

"But, Lachlan?"

"They must have done something to keep him from aiding me. He didn't come out, he just watched from a window. I was defeated, they locked us away in Purgatory."

"So she's with you at least?"

"No." She hid her face in her hands and sobs began to rack her semi-transparent body as she went on. "We somehow became separated. Oh, Ichabod, I lost her! I lost our baby girl!" She reached for him and he for her, yet as they touched in an embrace the substance of her began to fade.

"Katrina!"

"I'm sorry, Ichabod" She appear as but the lightest wisp of smoke before him.

"Katrina!" He was once again alone in the chamber. Standing and beginning to pace his head swam with more questions than answers. Gradually he noticed a small sound from nearby his former position. Looking in that direction he saw a very young girl, in child's dress from the time of the revolution, seated on the small bed. She rocked back and forth, holding tightly to the doll which had lain upon the pillow, crying with tears streaking down her pink face. Interjected among the sobs were pleas for her momma.

"Momma? Where are you, Momma? Momma!" She cried falling back into tears.

Ichabod knelt down next to the bed. "Its alright, sweetie, you'll be alright." She didn't seem to be able to hear him, lost in her own world. "Just hold on, my darling girl." By simply looking at the young girl, Ichabod could tell her identity. She had his own lighter hair and Katrina's eyes her features were a soft youthful mixture of theirs.

"Crane!" Lieutenant Mills' voice drew the child out of herself.

With an intake of breath the little girl began fading quickly, fear evident on her face, the doll fell onto the bed. "No, Abigail, wait!"

"I gather you weren't talking to me." Lieutenant Mills asked entering the chamber.

"No, I was not."

"Did you talk to Katrina?"

"Yes."

"And... what else?" She asked.

"My daughter. They're not together there. There's a three year old lost and alone in Purgatory." Abbie placed a hand briefly on his shoulder. "Did you speak with Grace?"

"Yeah, and I think I've got something that might be helpful."

"What might that be, a witch?"

"Possibly something like that, I'm really not sure yet."

"What do you mean by that?"

"She gave me this book, it apparently holds magic spells."

"Brought over from Africa no doubt. We should go back to the vault and get a good look at that book."

"Okay." Crane went through the door and down the corridor, a little too eager to leave the small earthen room. Somewhat taken aback by the suddenness of Crane's leap to action Abbie was late in following. At her first step after him, her way was impeded by the sudden apparition of Katrina, directly in her path.

"You look just like her, you know."

"Like who?"

"Grace." Looking at the book Abbie still held, she continued. "It would seem that your appearance is not the only thing the two of you share."

"You mean this?" Abbie asked holding out the book.

"Every land has its own form and name for a wielder of magic. For most the power goes hand-in-hand with healing."

"So, I'm a witch?"

"Yes and no. This form does require magical ability but most of the power is held within the words themselves. With the form contained here the correct term would be something similar to medicine-woman."

"How do you-"

"Leftenant?"

"Remember, despite what you may have heard, covens never fully disappear. Look after him." Katrina said in farewell as she began quickly fading.

"There you are. Haven't you moved? Come on." Shaking her head in some amusement she followed him back out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I continue to own nothing.**

**Author's Note: That's the end of the rewritten part, new chapter will be in the works soon. Thank you all for reading/rereading. Thoughts are still always welcome.**

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><p><span>Chapter 3<span>

"This is fascinating! It seems to be written in an ancient form of a Central African language, some of the earliest ones have a resemblence to ancient Egyptian. And you can read these?"

"Well the little footnotes in English explaining what the spells do are useful, but yeah somehow I can pronounce everything."

He looked back at the page where the footnote was clearly visible. "I didn't see those." He defended weakly.

"You know, I was thinking about what Katrina told me." Ichabod looked up from the book, his attention diverted. "She said that her coven still existed."

"We must find them, then."

"Ok. Now the only question is, how do we find a coven that's been staying hidden since the end of the 18th century?"

"What if it hasn't been hiding? Not effectively at any rate." She only responded with a slightly befuddled look. "There's one place where we might find records of any unusual occurrences, occurrences which might have witchly origin. And that place would be-"

"The town library. And we find the center of odd activity." Abbie finished, realizing his meaning and plan. "God bless Ben Franklin."

"Despite his annoying arrogance, I admit that his contributions to this country are admirable."

"I sense a chip on your shoulder."

"Ben and I had our differences." He answered, vaguely.

At the town's small library they met around a table with all the books and documents concerning odd events in the town, which proved to be many. "This town is stranger than I thought." The lieutenant marveled as she gazed at the numerous material sources they had collected.

"We shall have to employ some sort of decisive method to narrow our choices."

"So separate the witch caused events from the Sleepy Hollow weirdness. That might be easier said than done."

"Well this one seems to be a side-effect of the town's supernatural connections, as opposed to this one." They spent the next half-hour or so removing the day to day oddities of Sleepy Hollow from the possible leads. From these they were able to deduce the source of the activity as an old abandoned church outside of town, St. Henry Parish. "That's it, we've found the coven of the Radiant Heart." Ichabod exclaimed, determination shadowing his face and voice.

"So we're just going to storm a coven?" Abbie asked, doubtful of the wisdom of such a course of action.

"Precisely."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea." She warned, but seeing his pleading look she relented. "Alright, but nothing rash."

"Of course."

And so they set out, armed only with the lieutenant's gun and Ichabod's wits. Upon arrival they found a rundown and overgrown church that miraculously still stood. Against any instincts to the contrary they may have had, they entered the aging church. Their entrance interrupted a group of women in the midst of a chant.

"Who dares defile this coven house? No man may enter during a casting." A very important looking woman at the center of the group demanded, coming to her feet.

"I am Ichabod Crane. I have some questions about my wife and daughter and I'm not leaving without the answers!" He replied with a force to match the woman's.

The entire congregation of witches had recoiled to varying degrees at the announcement of his name. "How do we know that you're who you say?" One asked, taking the defensive for her sisters.

"Do I appear to be lying?"

"How did you find us? No one knows about this place." Another asked, more sheepishly than the other two before her.

Beside her, Ichabod fumed and seemed momentarily incapable of speech, so Abbie responded. "You're not exactly hard to find. You should really consider working on that whole secret thing."

"Ichabod Crane." A seemingly disembodied voice rang out.

Confusion briefly overcoming his paternal wrath, Ichabod replied. "Yes?"

"Is it really you?"

"Yes."

"Do you recognize me?" The voice asked, motion in the back drew their attention. From the darkness, and what seemed a curtain, came a hooded female figure. As she came to the front and stood before them she removed her hood. The face of a blonde woman in her early thirties was revealed.

"Rachel. What are- how?"

"You know him?" Said the important looking woman with indignance, whispers circled through the huddled women.

"Silence!" The woman, identified as Rachel, ordered and all sound ceased.

"This another old girlfriend of yours, Crane?" Abbie asked, half teasing.

"No. She was a friend of Katrina's, from her coven I now presume."

"Indeed, Ichabod. You and I know why you're here, but I'm sure you're wondering why I am."

"You might say we're curious, yeah." Abbie added, during a pause.

She turned her gaze onto the lieutenant, and her cold eyes bore into her for a moment. "I sense a power in you, different from our own."

"The lieutenant is a descendant of one Grace Dixon, whom you might recall."

"Ah, yes, I remember." She responded curtly, giving Abbie a short glare before turning a gentler gaze upon Crane. "I'm afraid I have a small confession to make, my dear Ichabod." She sulked, her voice dripping in the manner of a practiced socialite as she placed a hand affectionately on Crane's chest. The whole performance nearly drove Abbie to illness. "Grace Dixon is the reason I'm still here. You see, she put a curse upon me. I was to wait here until you awakened so I could help you retrieve Katrina."

"Why? Why you?" Ichabod asked, removing her hand from his person.

"I couldn't imagine why she'd want to curse you." Abbie muttered under her breath, already disliking this woman, from whom the feelings were obviously resiprecated.

Rachel straightened, taking a step back from Crane, her rues uncovered. "Because I discovered her and Lachlan's little secret, and because I'm the one who turned Katrina in." she said, remorseless of her actions. She continued cooly, unaffected by Crane's rising colour, in an innocent simper. "I had to, you understand, imagine what the coven would have done to me if I hadn't. Personally, I had no issue with her action. In order to save the man I love, even disturbing the natural order would seem right." She gently replaced her hand upon his chest. "I noticed that Lachlan and... her," she curled her lips in disgust on the pronoun, giving Abbie a brief sideways glare, "had been making occasional trips toward your and Katrina's home and I put the pieces together. Then after we had to trap poor Lachlan I knew she'd come to see him."

"And that's when you trapped her." He stepped forward, closer to her, brushing her hand away from him again, and growled. "You were her friend. That makes you all the more guilty than the rest. You looked on and aided in the eternal entrapment of a woman and her three year old daughter, my daughter." She held eye contact with him, quite unaffected by these accusations. "Did you not even have the decency to allow them each other's company? You separate a mother and child!"

This last sentence at last gained a reaction, a violent one at that. Rachel stepped away in offended shock, similarly the others gasped and muttered. "How dare you make such accusations."

"Not we nor our mothers before us would dream of doing such a thing."

"No, Ichabod. We didn't do that." Her facade was removed, and she sounded truly offended and defensive because of it.

Crane looked at her with hardened, dispassionate eyes.

"You're not actually going to believe what a bunch of witches say. Right, Crane?" Abbie asked, trying to read his expression in the flickering light of candles.

"We were women, many of us mothers ourselves. It was only a punishment, a precaution really, for Katrina's saving you. We would never take a child from her mother!" She looked rather desperately into his eyes; searching for any recognition of her words as truth, she found none. "You must believe me!"

"And yet, somehow, I don't. They are apart, Rachel. A three year old girl was torn from her mother and is alone in purgatory, in fear! If you didn't do it, who did?" He nearly shouted the last question.

"Crane," Abbie placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. "We're not gonna get anything more here. Let's go." She lightly pulled him in the direction of the door. After a moment he followed, leaving Rachel looking wounded by his words.

They returned to the vault in near silence, interjected occasionally by short lived attempts at conversation.

"I don't trust her."

Crane let out a short humorless laugh. "I never particularly did either, truthfully. She always seemed rather insincere." He paused for a moment although considering something. "And yet, if they were telling the truth-"

"Which is unlikely." Abbie interrupted from where she reclined, feet resting on the table and chair leaning back.

"True. But even so, if they were, something must have happened while they were in purgatory."

"Is there kidnapping in purgatory?" She'd meant it jokingly but then the possibility of the suggestion struck her. "Did Katrina mention anything about seeing someone before they got seperated?"

"She wasn't really in the state to explain in detail at the time." He explained. "I'm going to see if she saw anything." He rose to his feet and headed to the old Crane house without another word to her.

Briefly she considered going after him and insisting upon accompanying him. She decided against it and instead planned to give him a half-hour head start before following.

He didn't stop walking until he reached the underground corridor, and even then continued into the small room of his prior encounter. "Katrina?" Nothing happened in response. And so he waited, seated in the ancient chair, waiting for an apparition. The one which he got was not the one he had been expecting. Again the small sniffings of a lonely and frightened girl filled the air. Looking up Ichabod saw his daughter curled up on the small bed, clutching the doll close once again. He resumed his earlier position, kneeling next to the bed. "Hello, little one."

This time she heard him, and started slightly. She looked at him with wide-eyed surprise. "Who are you? Where's Momma?"

"I don't know where your mother is either. How did you lose her, do you lose her, do you remember?" She looked at him warily. "It's alright. I'm also looking for your momma. You see, I'm lost too. Perhaps if you can tell me how you got lost we can find her together."

She didn't speak at first then began in a trembling girlish voice, marked by her mother's accent, which seemed on the verge of tears at any moment as she spoke. "We were in a strange place, dark. There was a man, he wear red coat, big. Momma didn't see but I did. Then Momma was gone and I was alone." Finishing her story she fell into tears and as they grew she faded away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Author's Note: I want to thank all of you for sticking with this so long. Also I want to thank Red Lighting, who requested the idea originally and beta reads for me. **

**Hope you enjoy this chapter. Comments are welcome.**

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><p><span>Chapter 4<span>

It was dark, the indigo sky broken by the ominously grey wall of clouds. Rolls of thunder rumbled quietly in the distance. Having equipped himself, unbeknownst to the lieutenant; with a rapier, crossbow, and automatic assault rifle; Ichabod Crane faced the mounting wind in an empty meadow.

"Horseman of Death, I summon you! Face, Abraham Van Brun!" He hollered into the night. "Face me!"

His cries were answered by a great clap of thunder and sudden pounding rain. A bright bolt of lightning struck the ground not two yards from him; he did not flinch, perhaps those mid-storm experiments with Franklin had payed off. From the flash of light darkened the awaited large figure. In the haze of lingering light he could just make out the impossible form of a head. When the apparition solidified, the whole bodied figure of Abraham Van Brun was revealed.

"What, Ichabod? You wanted me to _face_ you. Here I am."

"Abraham."

"Should we take advantage of this face to face opportunity or get to the reason we're both here?"

"I don't think you know just what that is."

"Really? I believe since I'm the challenged party, I decide the weapon." Another streak of lightning struck the ground at the horseman's side, leaving in its place a saber wavering in the ground from residual energy. Taking a step towards his challenger, taking up the sword with an exuberant and flourished swing. Crane, in turn, shed the excess weaponry. "I don't know? Perhaps, then, you can explain it to me." He thrust the blade forward, causing Crane to back quickly away a few paces. "Why are we here?" He asked with a swipe.

Deflecting the blow, Ichabod took on a more offensive stance. "You- you took Katrina and Abigail."

"Now you can't blame me for that. I merely stumbled across them, her coven sent them there."

Lunge, parie, swing, deflect, parie, advance, retreat, lunge, deflect.

"Yet you are responsible for their separation!" Crane accused. The clash of steel continued throughout their conversation.

"A little out of practice, Ichabod?" Abraham inquired tauntingly, noticing Crane's reversion to defensive moves. "You were always the weaker swordsman."

His already building anger bursting out into rage, Crane loosed a frenzy of strokes upon his opponent. "Why?"

"I couldn't have the child around to remind her. She's but a remembrance of you. For Katrina that life is over." The old rivalry had arisen and found expression again in the flurry of steely blades as well as words.

"Katrina is still my wife."

"Not anymore, she's been promised to me."

"She was promised to you once before I recall. You lost her then, as you will now."

"You forget, Ichabod, she is in my domain now. And there she shall wait as my prize. But not for much longer now."

"She is no one's prize, did the last time not teach you that? She doesn't love you."

"She will, in time!" Abraham stated, voicing his desperate belief. "Katrina is mine now."

"I will find her."

Abraham laughed, accentuated by a roll of thunder. "You try, you just try, Ichabod."

To give credence to his prior assertion, Crane lunged. The blade's path was true and would have met with Abraham's chest, had it not been for the bolt of lightning that descended and collected the horseman.

Now left facing not but the wind once again, Crane repeated his promise. "I will find them."

Crane stumbled, worn and exhausted, into the vault where Abbie was sitting with nothing to do. "Where have you been?" Taking in his slumped, sword dragging form she amended her question. "What have you been doing?"

"I was in a duel."

"A duel? With who?"

"Abraham."

"The horseman? You had a duel with the horseman? Are you insane?"

"No," he yawned, "but I am very tired." He dropped the sword and the other pilfered weaponry. "So if you'd exc-"

"Hold up. You didn't tell me you were gonna do this."

"You were out and would in all likeliness not have allowed me to go through with it."

"Not without me I wouldn't've." She scolded, before curiosity got the better of her. "So what happened?"  
>"He's the one who separated them. It was all in order that Katrina would forget about me so Abraham could claim her."<p>

"But she hasn't. Who won the duel?"

"Neither of us. He disappeared."

"What now?"

"I'm going to find them, and get them back." He stated as before, though with more determination.

"How exactly do you plan on doing that?"

"Retrieve them from purgatory. There must be some sort of spell to do that."

"It's gonna be a little more complicated than that." The comment came from the door, where Rachel stood.

"What are you doing here?" Abbie asked, displeased in the extreme to see the woman again.

"Well I-I-" Stammering, she wrung her hands nervously. "Could- could I talk to Ichabod alone?"

"No. Whatever you've got to say you can say in front of me."

"Ichabod… you may not have known but I… I always was very fond of you." The wringing intensified. "Perhaps fond is putting it lightly. But that's all beside the point now; since you obviously never noticed me in the slightest, it was all about Katrina what with Van Brun and you fighting over her as you were." The room was silent after this rambling revelation, and the sudden change in her demeanor. "Well I've decided something. I always thought that an upside of this curse is that I'd still be here when you returned and there might be a chance for us. Only, obviously things aren't turning out as I'd planned, you love her and I've no place in this. Living forever's suddenly lost its charm. So I'm ready to help if you'll have me."

"Crane, you're a heartbreaker." Abbie said after a moment, an ironic smile accompanying the statement. He opened his mouth a few time as though about to speak but no words came. "My God, he's speechless. If you can teach me how to do that, you're in."

"Well, I don't know if that in particular is something I can teach. But there is a silencing charm."

"You said there's a problem?" Ichabod asked, finally finding voice.

"Yes." She replied, relieved that she had been excepted. "As I said, it's more complicated. You can't just summon a trapped soul back from purgatory, you need to have a location of that soul."

"We could use a tracking spell." Abbie suggested.

"Location in purgatory is complicated. Tracking spells often get confused."

"Complicated how?" Crane asked.

"It's a land of the mind - minds really - individual personal islands of the mind, travel is achieved through thought."

"We'll figure something out." Abbie assured. "In the meantime maybe I can learn a few things from Rachel."

"It would be my pleasure." Rachel responded. "Ichabod, you look awful. Get some rest, and let us girls get a start on this."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I still don't own this, no matter how off character some of it is (and I'm sorry about that OCness).**

**AN: Hope you enjoy this chapter. And please review.**

**PS the stuff in bold is in purgatory.**

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><p><span>Chapter 5<span>

"Are you sure about this, Crane?" Abbie asked, not entirely confident in their plan. It was a good one she supposed, as far as completely insane magical plans went.

Crane, Abbie, and Rachel stood in front of Fredrick's Manor, for a reason only one of them knew.

"Yes, I am."

"I should go with you." She asserted in her most convincing, almost threatening tone.

"No," replied both Rachel and Ichabod in unison.

"I need you here to create and hold the portal." Rachel stated.

Taking one of her hands and turning her aside so that they faced each other, Ichabod made solemn eye contact with her. "Leftenant, this is my family and my duty alone."

Relenting, however reluctantly, she expressed her acceptance of his actions. "Okay, fine. But if anything, anything, happens and you need me, call me."

"Uh… I-" Crane began to voice his doubts but was quickly interrupted.

"I'm sure Purgatory has great reception. Promise?"

"I will."

"Great." Her control over the situation established, Abbie turned on Rachel. "Now would you tell me why we had to come here?" The irritation in her tone explained by Rachel's refusal thus far to explain its necessity.

"Because, while you're getting better, you're not that strong. So we need help from them." The long-lived witch indicated the identity of the pronoun with a thumb jerk over her shoulder toward the manor. In the front window could be seen the watchful figures of Grace Dixon and Lachlan. "Under normal circumstances it takes an entire coven just to send someone into Purgatory; this is opening a portal, tethering someone, and bringing him and two people back. We've got two witches, a warlock, and a fledging; we need all the help we can get. Before we start we have to go inside."

"And we haven't already because..?"

"Because I don't want to. Isn't that obvious? Let's go." As they followed the witch in, Abbie rolled her eyes and gave a low whistle for Crane's benefit.

Once inside the four gathered in a circle, Grace and Rachel eyeing each other with wary distaste, while Ichabod stood aside waiting for the magic to happen and feeling rather useless. There passed a few minutes of mantra chanting in the foreign tongue belonging to such activities as these before the air in the center of their circle began to ripple until it burst open into a ragged edged opening.

"It's ready, Ichabod." Lachlan's reassuring voice came to Crane as he stared into the portal, he nodded and moved forward.

"Good luck, Crane." Abbie wished just before he stepped through.

As he passed into Purgatory he heard the lingering words of Grace. "Stay concentrated, dear, you're his anchor."

**Then that world was gone; he stood in a dark foggy clearing troubling noises coming from indiscernible sources all around him. He chose a direction and upon the instant that his foot landed again on the ground his surroundings disintegrated. The sound of distant fire reached his ears, above it came the angered and pained ravings of a man on the ground, Looking up from the pair of dropped blades, lying near the man, he saw the advancing soldiers in red and green he had known were there. The dying man beyond the clump of shielding trees was overtaken by the approaching mob. Fear tugged at him and he turned and ran from the scene, as he had before,**

**The forest melted around his retreating form into wood paneled walls, the small space in which he had halted populated with figures in scholarly robes. "To my son, as he prepares for a successful career following in his father's footsteps. Everyone in the room raised the glasses in their hands in toast. Suddenly Ichabod became aware of the glass in his own hand. He remembered this place, this time, it was when he had chosen to give up a career as a professor of history at Oxford and instead to join the army and go to America. The glass was the signifier of his decision. Letting it fall from his hand he met the disappointed gaze of his father, the glass shattered much like their relationship at that moment.**

**The scene fell away to reveal a moonlit clearing. His arm was extended, a pistol in hand, a resolute man standing before him, the freeman known to him only as Cicero. The man's eyes bore into him awaiting his decision, to follow orders or not. Fring into a nearby tree he had set the course of his life and spared the man his own, though not for long as another explosion of pistol fire sounded from the hill's crest where the figure of his commanding officer in his changeling form. Cicero's body struck the ground dead, the surroundings instantly grew blurred in Ichabod's sight.**

**The blurring took shape once more in the form of a fog shrouded clearing, the muffled echo of confused voices from all sides. And now before Crane again stood the seemingly living person of Cicero. "You are a stranger in a strange land, Ichabod Crane. For good reason I hope."**

"**I've come to find my wife and daughter."**

"**Ah. the lovely Katrina Van Horn, a shame about that. Yes, I imagine you long for their return." **

**For some reason he was incapable of responding perhaps shock or confusion had rendered his tongue utterly useless. Finally his vocal cords untangled, "Why are you here?"**

"**Think of me as your guide on this unusual journey, I'm here to advise you. The manner of your arrival complicates your predicament. Those sent or waiting hee are faced with the major decisions of their lives, settling on the most life altering. This is where they wait out their term, pondering how their life could have been had they chosen differently. On the rare occasion of a child's arrival they are kept in a place where they are comfortable. Having come here of your own volition, your presence is confusing to Purgatory. This enables your use of certain loopholes." Cicero paused for a moment, allowing this knowledge to sink in. "It is getting hard to think with all these voices, is it not? Think of place you find comfortable." Turning his mind to this task Crane saw the fog take the form of a library at Oxford.**

"**Why you?"**

"**I represent your most influential decision, the turning point of your life."**

"**What would have happened?"**

"**If you had shot me?" Crane nodded almost imperceptibly, nervous to hear the answer he might receive. "You'll never know."**

"**I'm sorry."**

"**No need, I knew the risks."**

"**So where do I go from here? How do I find them?"**

"**It would be helpful if you knew what your wife's greatest decision was. But there are only a few places where a small frightened child would feel safe."**

"**She was at Lachlan's for a long time, yet I've seen her at our home. So that's where she must be. That's where I need to go. How do I trav-" His question was stopped by the sensation of the world moving around him, a feeling known before to him only in an elevator. When he regained his off-set bearings he found his location had changed to the parlor of his own home, nearly as it had looked in 1781. "That was weird." **

**Without further ado he hastened to where he knew the hatch leading downward would be, opened it and without ceremony or caution dropped to the earthy floor. He was on a mission and nothing was going to slow his progress. Or so he thought until he reached the door. From the other side he could hear the girl's voice humming the comforting melody of what sounded like a lullabye. He was momentarily entranced by this experience of childhood innocence, and perhaps held back by some fear of at long last meeting the daughter he had never known. With a preparatory breath he eased open the door. Abigail was on the floor, playing, but as the door was opened she scurried back onto the bed. She gazed, wide-eyed, at him as though she was wondering if he were real. In fact, he was beginning to wonder the same of her.**

"**Who..?" She whispered, not needing to finish the question.**

"**I've come to get you and bring you back to your mother."**

**She didn't reply, but looked at him curiously before scampering in a toddlerish fashion to a low dresser and retrieved a small portrait which she must have spent much time looking at, a portrait done shortly after his and Katrina's wedding. Returning to face him, she held it up to compare with his own visage. "Daddy?" She said quietly. **

**The title, unfamiliar against his ears as it was, nothing could have made him happier at that moment than hearing it come from her.**

"**Yes, Abigail."**

"**Daddy!" Her excitement was undaunted by the fact that she had doubtless been told that he was dead. Coming to him, she hugged his arm with great affection, the portrait still grasped in her little hand. **

**Her joy seemed to radiate through the dark room and infected him. He smiled and picked her up awkwardly, she squirmed for a moment until she was held in a proper fashion. "We're going to find your mommy, alright?" Talking with children had never been one of his strong suits and with his own child was no different.**

"**Becky!" She cried as he began to turn towards the exit, her arm outstretched beseechingly for the doll on the bed.**

"**Oh." He backtracked to the bed and picked up the figurine. "Here you go, little one." Abigail took it and held it close along with the portrait. **

"**Thank you, Daddy." She said, bestowing a thankful kiss on his cheek. Ichabod couldn't resist the smile that stretched across his face. He gave the room a final look over, when something glittering on the dresser caught his eye. There he found the simple emerald necklace, presented to Katrina by Abraham and chosen for her by Ichabod himself. Cicero's earlier words suddenly made more sense, '...if you knew what your wife's greatest decision was'. Taking the necklace in hand he stood looking at it for a moment, his daughter in the other arm. "Mommy's necklace."**

**If there was a bigger decision than what the necklace represented, a choice between life-long security and love, in Katrina's life he didn't know it. "Abigail," she looked at him wide-eyed, hanging on his every word. "I need you to think about your mommy." She closed her eyes and her face scrunched in deep concentration. Keeping his hold on the piece of jewelry he did some concentrating of his own on that fateful evening. Their surroundings blurred once more, and the elevator sensation returned.**

**Then the walls of the Van Brunt Mansion encased the pair. Abigail's eyes, once opened, lit up in awe of the grand sight. The drawing room was empty, bare of all but the furniture. Crane knew the layout of the large house, however where Katrina might be being kept still eluded him. Wandering somewhat aimlessly through the many corridors. His earlier duel with Abraham and what he had said. Abraham had separated them for the sole purpose of keeping Katrina for himself. So where would he be keeping her? If she had differently she would be Abraham's wife instead of his own. Where else would a wealthy wife be found but her boudoir? He found the private wing and, trying every door, happened upon one which did not open. **

"**Abigail, stay right here." Ichabod instructed as he placed her on the ground, where she stood watching him curiously. Placing the necklace in his pocket, he faced the problematic door. Again he tried the knob, to no avail, then he resorted to brute force and simply rammed his shoulder against the door in the hope it would budge. After a few blows, and the assurance of a deep ache the next day, the door broke open. He turned to pick up the little girl drawn close by his success before pushing through the wreck into the room.**

"**Ichabod?!" The somewhat frightened Katrina exclaimed, once she recognised the intruder.**

"**Mommy!"**

"**Abigail, my darling!" Katrina came to meet her her family and took Abigail into her own arms, hugging the girl tightly. **

"**Look, mommy, daddy." She held the little portrait so that her mother could also make the identification.**

"**Yes, it is." She praised, kissing her girl on the head. It had been so long since she had held the child, and even longer since she had seen the man now before her. Smiling at her husband she ask, "However did you find us?"**

"**I had some help from old friends. I've missed you so very much." He wrapped his arms around the mother and child.**

"**And I you." She replied as they broke apart.**

"**Now let's get out of here and home."**

"**When exactly is home?"**

"**2014."**

"**Alright." She responded in a state of near shock. "Let's." Her next word came a little more confidently. Before leading them out, Crane looked over the room and saw the door that adjoined this room to Abraham's. The sight only fueled his anger at the man responsible.**

**The trio had not made it even a few steps down the hall when the found their way impeded by the person of Abraham Van Brunt himself. "Ichabod Crane! How dare you!"**

"**Mommy." At the appearance of the scary man who had taken her from her mother, Abigail curled into Katrina and clutched her doll. It was times like this when she had unknowingly sent herself into the present world through the doll.**

"**It's alright, sweetie. I'm here." Katrina stroked Abigail's hair comfortingly. "I'm here."**

**Stepping forward, so that Katrina and Abigail were behind him, Ichabod came to face the object of his swelling ire. "How dare I? How dare you!"**

"**Katrina is mine."**

"**She-"**

"**I most certainly am not!" Katrina interrupted him. She handed Abigail to her husband, who took over the role of comforting protection. "I do not belong to anyone! I am not a prize to be won. I decide to whom I give my heart, and I have chosen. I am Katrina Van Horn Crane. And if you have not gotten that through your thick skull after two-hundred years, it is quite time you do!"**

"**I love you, Katrina."**

"**Oh Abraham, that's what you never understood. Love has to go in both directions. You were a good man, but I didn't love you. I might also add that locking a woman in a boudoir and taking her child away is not the way to win her affection!" This scolding left Abraham without response, while Ichabod stood gaping in admiring awe at his wife. "Now we're leaving. If you ever come near my family with such intentions again, I will turn you into a beetle and stamp you like the bug you are." With that she turned from him and walked away in a flustered flutter of skirts, Ichabod following with Abigail. Behind them was left a defeated Abraham Van Brunt, horseman of war. **

"**Ichabod." He called quietly to the retreating man, who stopped and turned toward his former rival. "You've won. You won all those years ago. My apologies, for everything."**

**Ichabod went back the short distance down the hall within arms length of Abraham. "I owe you a lot, old friend. I'm sorry it had to be like this."**

"**As am I." They shook hands and Ichabod returned to his family, as Abraham slowly faded away along with the mansion until the trio stood in the Oxfordian library.**

"**So if you were trapped there, how did you appear?"**

"**My favorite flower is…"**

"**The daisy."**

"**Yes," she continued, smiling that he had remembered. "And daisies, when burning, enable one to send out their spirit to any place they wish. Which is why I could never stay long, they burn quickly."**

"**I'm glad you could." He took a step closer to her.**

"**As am I." She closed the space left between them. Their lips met for the first time in more than two hundred years. They broke apart at a small noise from the toddler in the crook of Ichabod's arm. They looked in unison to find Abigail fast asleep, curled up against her father.**

"**She's beautiful."**

"**Indeed, she is."**

"**Like her mother."**

**Katrina let out a small chuckle and gave her husband another kiss. "Now, how do we get out of here?"**

"**I haven't the faintest idea." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. "Perhaps they will."**

"**What is that?"**

"**A mobile phone." She gave him a blank look. "It allows one to talk to someone who's somewhere else."**

"**How does it work?" She asked taking it from his hand and inspecting the strange object.**

"**I don't know." He took it back and dialed in Abbie's number. "Please let the Leftenant be right." He prayed as he waited for the phone to ring.**

"Crane, you okay?"

"**Yes Leftentant, we're all fine."**

"Mission complete, without issue?"

"**Yes. There was a small run in with Abraham, but Katrina handled it nicely. Can one of you tell us how do we get back?"**

"**So you're to talking to people on the other end. Do they have one of these as well?" Katrina asked.**

"She's struggling with the concept of a phone isn't she? So are Lachlan and Grace on this end."

"**Is that Rachel?" Katrina asked, incredulously she couldn't quite hear the words but the voice was familiar enough.**

"Hello, Katrina." She spoke more loudly to be heard clearly.

**Katrina took the mysterious device from her husband and spoke into it as he had done. "I swear, when I-" her threat was low, as not to wake Abigail, but dangerous.**

"Chill out, honey. I'm the one helping you get out of there."

**Katrina huffed and returned the phone to Crane. "Getting us back, how's that coming?" He was relieved to hear Abbie back in possession of the phone.**

"Grace says to join hands and repeat this spell, then walk through a doorway. I'm going to text you a picture of the page. Good luck, Cranes." The call ended.

**It wasn't long until the phone rung to signal the arrival of the picture. Opening the message he showed it to Katrina, who looked at it in some awe. "I'll explain photographs afterwards." **

**They joined hands around the still slumbering Abigail, and began to read. "**_**Táimid ag caillte i dtalamh aisteach. Fill ar ais muid strainséirí ar an ithir ar ár fréamhacha.**_" **He then led her through the nearby library door.**

They stepped through the doorway into the parlor of Frederick's Manor. 'We're home." Crane breathed out in a relieved sigh. Katrina seemed alright, though she was looking around the decrepit manor with some sadness.

"Welcome back Crane." Abbie greeted, leaving the circle.

"It is good to be back."

"Thank you, for everything: looking after Ichabod and getting us all out of there." Katrina added.

"Call me Abbie. And you're welcome. It's good to finally meet you, Mrs. Crane."

"Please call me Katrina."

"Alright."

"If I may… what you're wearing, is this normal for this time?"

"Ahh umm." Abbie looked down at what she was wearing then scanned Katrina's floor length full skirted gown, understanding where the question was coming from. "Yeah, it is." She looked down at the third escapee who was just starting to stir. "She's so cute!"

"She is quite the dear." Grace appeared beside Abbie in admiration of the little girl.

Abigail's eyes opened and found Grace almost immediately. "Auntie Grace."

"Hello, Abigail. How are you?" Grace asked the toddler.

"Fine. Who?" She asked the trapped spirit while pointing to the lieutenant.

"This is Abbie."

"Auntie Abbie." Katrina corrected.

Abbie looked somewhat shocked at the title bestowed upon her. "It's an honorary title, Leftenant."

"Well then I'm honored. Can I hold her?"

"Of course." Ichabod transferred Abigail to the lieutenant's arms.

"Do I get to be Auntie Rachel?"

"No." Katrina informed to the other witch.

"Ouch. But I get it." Approaching Katrina she turned softer and more genuine. "Listen, I truly am sorry. I was jealous and feeling vengeful. I suppose I don't actually expect you to forgive me…"

"I do." Katrina admitted. "And thank you."

Rachel looked over at Grace, a small smile on her lips. "Can I be free now?"

"Yes, you already are."

"Thank you, Grace."

"So what does that mean?"

"I can die, age, finally. Funny thing is now that's it gone I think I'm going to miss it. You know getting to see flying cars. Still it was starting to be a bit boring."

"Rachel." Lachlan reminded.

"Right." She replied, remembering her own part of the deal.

"Goodbye everyone."

"Farewell."

"What's going on?" Abbie asked.

"Rachel is going to lift her spell on the house and we will no longer be kept here." Lachlan explained. He and Grace shared a glance then he nodded to Rachel.

"_Bacainní a sheas uair amháin láidir, scaoileadh an anamacha i do lámh._" As soon as she finished the recitation the two began to fade. They appeared fainter and fainter as they waved to those assembled.

"Bye Auntie Grace, Uncle Lachlan." Little Abigail said, waving back.

"Bye." Everyone else echoed, adding their hands to the wave of farewell.


End file.
